


Tea and Sonnets

by theimprobable1



Series: Of Knights and Pilots [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry has a surprise for Martin. Of course Martin thinks it's a reason to panic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Sonnets

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to chess_ka for being a lovely beta!

Martin was painfully aware of his hand sweating in Henry’s grip.

“Where are we going?” he asked, trying to sound calm but most likely failing. They were supposed to have dinner tonight, but where Henry was leading him looked like a residential area with no restaurants around, and something about it seemed suspicious.

“Wait and see,” Henry said. His smile was lovely in the evening sunlight, but Martin could detect a nervous edge in his voice too. “We’re almost there.”

It was nothing to worry about, Martin told himself firmly, but it didn’t help much. There were only so many things that Henry could want to show him among posh residential houses, and if it was what Martin thought it was, then… it was good, of course, very good, but unexpected, and Martin wasn’t exactly good at dealing with surprises, especially if they were related to his love life. Mostly because he wasn’t very good at dealing with his love life at all. Mostly because he wasn’t used to having one.

They stopped by a red brick Victorian house, and Martin’s suspicions were gradually confirmed as Henry unlocked the door and they entered. The house seemed to have been converted into several flats, and Henry had keys for one on the ground floor.

The most logical reason for him to have keys from the flat was that it was _his_ flat. In Fitton. Henry had got himself a flat in Fitton.

“What do you think?” Henry asked as they stepped inside.

Martin looked around. It was a studio flat, but that certainly didn’t mean it was small – Martin guessed his attic room would fit in it about ten times. The furniture was sparse and modern – all white and glass and chrome. The flat didn’t look very lived-in, but Marin could see Henry’s black jumper thrown over the arm of a chair, and a dog-eared paperback on the coffee table.

“It’s… yours?” he said in what he hoped was a level tone of voice. The question certainly didn’t seem to make Henry relax.

“Yeah,” he said, toying with the keys nervously. “I mean—just rented. I saw the advertisement and I thought it… I’ve wanted a change of scenery for ages anyway, and—it’ll be more comfortable, having a place to stay here.”

Of course it would be more comfortable—Henry wouldn’t have to spend ages on trains any more, just because they lived far away from each other and Martin couldn’t afford to travel. But it seemed utterly impossible to Martin that Henry could like him enough to rent a flat just to be closer to him. Quite probably renting a flat made less of a difference to Henry than buying a pair of shoes did to Martin, but _still_. It seemed like a huge step, especially considering that this was only their sixth date. It felt like they’d known each other for much longer – they spent lots of time texting and calling each other, and Henry was so easy to be with compared to everyone else—but the fact remained that this was just their sixth date. They hadn’t even had sex yet, and it…

Oh. _Oh_. Martin’s eyes were automatically drawn to the corner of the bed he could glimpse behind a low half wall, and he could feel his face going red with an alarming speed. 

“Everything okay?” Henry asked, frowning slightly. Martin turned to face him, forcing himself to remain calm.

“Fine!” he said, perhaps too enthusiastically. “Brilliant, in fact, because you – you’ll be living here now, right?”

“Alternately. When you’re not away,” Henry said, stepping closer to Martin. “It would—we could see each other more often. If… if you want.”

Martin smiled and leaned in to kiss Henry—he’d found that kissing worked well to dispel awkwardness on both sides, and it had the added benefit that it was impossible to focus on anything but the feel of Henry’s lips on his, so he wouldn’t be able to worry about what else they might do tonight.

Not that he didn’t want to have sex with Henry. Of course he did! But it was another thing that he could—and probably would—muck up, and he would have liked to have… more time to mentally prepare himself and try to calm his nerves a little, even though that would probably be a futile attempt.

“I thought we could stay in, watch a film?” Henry murmured into Martin’s hair when they broke apart.

“Hmm, yes,” Martin agreed, nuzzling Henry’s jaw. It occurred to him that they’d never been properly alone together so far – all their dates had been more or less in public. Martin’s house wasn’t exactly a place where he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend. They had found secluded spots, but they’d never had real privacy, which was probably the reason why they hadn’t had sex on their third date. That was the time to do it, wasn’t it? Thank God Martin hadn’t thought of it then, or their third date would have been a complete disaster.

Now their sixth was going to be a disaster – it was _third date times two_ , so they were _definitely_ going to have sex and Martin was definitely going to ruin it somehow and then Henry would realise that he was wasting his time with Martin and _leave_. 

Except Martin couldn’t let that happen, could he?

Abruptly, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. He needed to calm down, stop this before he worked himself up into a panic attack and made everything worse.

 

He was being ridiculous: this was _Henry._ Henry didn’t think that Martin was pathetic because he worked for free, or because he lived in student housing. He didn’t mind when Martin’s sentences got jumbled and he ended up saying something nonsensical. He _liked_ Martin for some strange reason—why else would he rent the flat? Spend what must be insane amounts of money on international phone calls? And most of the time he was just as awkward as Martin, anxious about Martin’s opinion of him. Martin remembered the time Henry told him that he had a therapist. He remembered the day in the park and the woman with an overly enthusiastic collie that took a liking to Henry’s jeans. Henry had been frozen to the spot until Martin managed to chase the dog off, and then he’d refused to look at Martin, as if Martin could ever think any less of him. Henry never talked about what had happened to him so Martin only knew what he’d read on John Watson’s blog, but it was more than enough to convince him that Henry had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

Henry was so kind to him, he wouldn’t mind if Martin wasn’t very good in bed at first. And he was nervous about it, too. Martin felt a wave of tenderness at the thought, and he couldn’t hide in the bathroom any longer. Henry was bound to worry if he did, and he didn’t want to hide anymore. He wanted to go out and take Henry in his arms and be whatever Henry needed.

Henry was on the phone ordering a pizza when Martin emerged from the bathroom. Martin walked straight up to him and wrapped his arms around his waist. It was still a bit terrifying to be able to do things like that, but also very, very good and in a way it was easier to go and do them rather than worry about what might happen. And he’d noticed that Henry was usually pleased when Martin took the initiative.

Henry’s voice faltered a little, but his free hand came up instantly to pull Martin closer. When he finished speaking he dropped the phone carelessly on the table and hugged Martin properly. 

“It’s a lovely flat,” Marin said with his lips against Henry’s neck.

“Hmm. I just wish it wasn’t on the ground floor, but it’ll do for now.”

What did it feel like, when the only problem with your living conditions was the floor?

“Won’t you miss your house?” Martin asked, pulling away a bit to be able to look at Henry’s face.

“I’ll have to go back to see Dr Mortimer anyway,” Henry shrugged. “And the house is too big for someone who’s paranoid about every little noise.”

“Good thing you don’t live with four people who think that 3 a.m. is an appropriate time to put on the dryer,” Martin said, attempting to distract Henry from any self-depreciating thoughts. He reached up to touch Henry’s cheek, and Henry turned his face into Martin’s touch in a way that made Martin feel oddly protective. Henry’s stubble scratched Martin’s skin when he dropped a kiss on his wrist, and for a moment Martin forgot he was nervous and was left with a feeling of wonder that this was actually happening: that there was a lovely man who was quietly but openly affectionate with him and who smiled at him like Martin was the best thing to happen to him in years. They had to be pretty grim years if _Martin_ deserved this kind of smile, and he was determined to do whatever it took to ensure that Henry wouldn’t be disappointed.

They settled on the sofa and chose a film. Martin was curled up next to Henry, Henry’s arm around his shoulder, and about three minutes in it became clear that there were things far more interesting than looking at the screen that they could be doing. Like kissing, for example. It was only when the food arrived that they realised they’d effectively missed the first thirty minutes of the film and had no idea what was going on. Martin didn't mind. Quite the opposite, really. They left the film on as a sort of background noise and occasionally – when they could take their eyes from each other – laughed at something the characters did or said that didn't any sense to someone who'd spent the first third of the story snogging, the second eating pizza in a highly undignified manner, and the last cuddling.

It was just so easy to be with Henry. Martin had never cuddled with anyone before Henry, and he’d certainly never been fed anchovies by anyone before tonight, and by all rights he should feel self-conscious, but he didn’t. He even forgot that he was supposed to be panicking because they were going to Have Sex.

At least until the film ended and Henry extracted himself from Martin’s embrace to find the remote and turn the DVD player off, and in the sudden quiet the awkwardness returned. It was one of the “What now?” moments that were inherently awkward, probably even for people who weren’t Martin, but now it was even more awkward because this time there was a simple answer to the question. Except it really _wasn’t_ simple. What was Martin to do? He had no idea how these things were supposed to proceed.

“You’re not in a hurry, are you?” Henry said. It was a strange question to be asking at half nine in the evening, so it was probably one of those things that meant something completely different than what they seemed to. Maybe it meant “You’re not opposed to a shag, are you?”

Henry scratched his temple in a way that meant that the uncertainty wasn’t one-sided. Maybe he didn’t know what to do either. Maybe he was even worried that Martin wouldn’t want to sleep with him.

“N-no,” Martin said, trying to look calm and collected. “I, um. I have tomorrow free, so. No need to have an early night.”

It would be best if they could just go back to the slow kissing they’d indulged in before, and then maybe things would just naturally progress from there? Except then they’d be on the sofa, and that was too small to have sex on. Or at least it looked that way to Martin, but of course he wouldn’t know what kind of furniture was suitable to have sex on, would he? Maybe the sofa was fine. People probably didn’t notice such things when they were having sex anyway. Or maybe they would somehow migrate to the bed, kissing insatiably and throwing items of clothing everywhere? Did things like that even happen in real life?

“I’ll, uh, make us some tea, shall I?” Henry asked, and that really didn’t make any sense, did it? Unless “tea” was some sort of code again. Martin was pretty sure that it was coffee that was supposed to mean sex, though. So tea probably meant… not sex? How was Martin even expected to know these things? Maybe Henry didn’t want to have sex after all. 

He smiled at Henry, trying not to let his confusion show, and then, because apparently his chief goal in life was to die of embarrassment, he said, “Sex would be lovely, thanks.” He only realised what he’d said when Henry’s eyes went wide and his ears pink, and then he made it even worse by clamping his hand over his mouth and trying to correct himself at the same time, so he only produced a muffled sputtering sound at first. “Tea! I meant tea! _Tea_ would be lovely! _Not_ sex. I-I-I mean, I don’t mean it wouldn’t be, I’m sure it would, it’s just not what I meant because I meant tea. Unless it’s code and tea means sex, and in that case I… don’t know what I meant.” Oh God could he please just die now, why did things like that always have to happen to him, couldn’t he just go _one day_ without setting a new world record in awkwardness?

Henry blinked. “Code?” 

“You know, a… a euphemism,” Martin explained weakly, and he just wanted to bury his face in one of the sofa cushions and stay like that until the world went away.

“I meant just tea,” Henry said, gently prying Martin’s hands away from a paper napkin Martin hadn’t realised he’d been tearing to little pieces. “No codes.”

“Of course you did, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot and I should really just shut up.”

“Martin, relax. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Martin said, and to his own ears he sounded like a mouse being stepped on.

“Oh, come here,” Henry said, pulling Martin into a hug. “You should never shut up. You’re adorable when you babble. And,” he cleared his throat, arms tightening around Martin, “though I did meant tea, it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. You know. Want to. I just didn’t think—I thought—there’s no rush. It—I suppose I’m a bit old-fashioned.” He let out a soft giggle that Martin would have loved the sound of if it weren’t a clear sign that he’d made Henry uncomfortable by his stupid assumptions and overanalyzing everything and being unable to control his tongue.

“No, it’s. Um,” Martin said eloquently, and finally dared to look at Henry. He was looking at his knees and faintly pink in the face, which was actually sort of cute. Unlike Martin’s face, no doubt, which probably looked like a tomato on fire now, and it was better not to think about that. “I. We can be old-fashioned together?” 

Henry looked at him then, and huffed out a laugh that was genuinely amused and not just a way to cover up nervousness.

“Very well then, my good sir,” he said with a grin. “Please make yourself comfortable while I prepare a pot of genuine old-fashioned tea, and then I hope you’ll do me the honour of listening to some sonnets I have penned in celebration of your ethereal beauty.” That didn’t help to return the colour of Martin’s face back to normal, but he felt the tension seep out of him as he let out a long-held breath.

“Ha ha. Shush.”

“Okay, not ethereal. Too many freckles for that, I suppose.” He touched Martin’s cheek lightly, and he was smiling in a way that made it impossible for Martin to take his eyes off him. “The rest stays, though.”

“You’re silly.”

“Yeah, I know. I got a therapist to sort that out, but she says it’s congenital and can’t be fixed.” Henry leaned in to press a kiss to Martin’s lips. “Can you live with that?”

“I think so,” Martin whispered, cupping the back of Henry’s head so he couldn’t get very far. “I’m not sure if I can live with how bad you are at making tea, though.”

“Good point,” Henry grinned and kissed Martin again before getting up. “Darjeeling?”

Martin watched the curve of his shoulders as Henry filled the kettle, warmth spreading in his chest. Everything was fine. It was staggering, really, because this was Martin’s life and nothing should be fine as a rule, but somehow Henry made everything right. It didn’t matter that Martin was a colossal berk, because Henry didn’t mind. They were good together. Maybe it could _work_. They would trade tea-warmed kisses tonight, and there would be so much left to discover of each other tomorrow.


End file.
